


The Singers in the Wood

by bookwormfaith



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-25
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2021-01-03 02:22:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21171854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwormfaith/pseuds/bookwormfaith
Summary: Sometimes there's a path through the woods, created by a song.





	The Singers in the Wood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bgoldfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bgoldfish/gifts).

_**"All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths." ~ Kiran Desai, The Inheritance of Loss**_

All day, the colors had been those of dusk, mist moving like a water creature across the great flanks of mountains possessed of ocean shadows and depths. Now it was evening and the setting sun lit through the trees in muted shafts of umber and flickers of gold, lighting a faerie path through the woods. It was easy to follow, treading through mossy trees and around great ferns pushing up through the undergrowth, following the songs of the wood. It is an old wood, this one, or so people say.

_Older than you know_ a voice whispers, the rustle of leaves in the wind.

She freezes, frightened.

_You frightened the child_ another admonishes, deeper, like water running down to deep pools. _Hush now, little one. We mean you no harm_

Mother said not to speak to strangers.

_I promise, we won't hurt you._ The first soothes, green running through his voice. 

_Come just a little further, little one_ The second coaxes.

Well, the Fae always keep their word, don't they? So she hesitates but then takes a step, and then another.

_That's it. This way._ They encourage, and she follows, and the trees open up to a clearing. The green voice is in the trees, cradled in the branches as if he belongs there, and the other sits at the tree's base, a harp in his hands.

"So young!" the first marvels. "You are far too little to be wandering in the woods."

"These woods are not safe." The second says gravely. "Did not your mother tell you so?"

Both of them sound as if they are singing, more than speaking. 

"I have no mother." She lifts her chin, braced for the teasing and mockery. "My nana looks after me now."

"Ah child." The harpist says sadly, and rises to come and kneel before her, folding his tall, tall self down like a wave coming to shore, and gently touches her cheek. "I am sorry. But I am sure your nana warned you away from these woods. If we had not found you the wolves might have done."

"They will not follow you here." The other agrees, sitting up on his branches. "They cannot penetrate our maze. I am sorry, little one. We did not mean to tempt you after us - we do not always realise how far our voices carry."

"I was not tempted." She says, puzzled. "And I heard no wolves."

"No." They exchange amused glances. "You would not. But you followed a path none can see if you were not listening to our Song."

"We will send you home now." The harpist rises and offers her his hand. "Come - your nana must be worried, the sun is already set."

She looks up, startled, for she had thought... but no, the golden sunset is gone and the stars peep through the branches. 

The first laughs softly. "Sorry. Time moves strangely for mortals when we sing. Follow Maglor, little one. He will see you safely home."

The harpist nods at her encouragingly. "And next time, have a care before wandering through the woods." He sings softly to her and nudges her out of the glade. "We will not always be here. And you should not be following us in any case."

Behind her the first voice is lifted in song, something about green tree and great woods that stretch for miles and miles, and the harpist joins his voice to his, the sea pushing at the edge of the cliffs where the trees overhang, and the road home seems strangely short. When she turns, they are no longer there, and the path lit by sunbeams is gone, but the echo of their voices remain.


End file.
